


Overflow

by TheRighteousMan (FullmetalFlameElric)



Series: Growing Pains [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Hunters, Kid Fic, Laura Arc, Magic addiction - mentioned, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Past Addiction, Sheriff Stiles Stilinski, Witch Hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:43:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullmetalFlameElric/pseuds/TheRighteousMan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their kids were always told Stiles was a little bit magic. They just never knew the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overflow

**Author's Note:**

> Ok... so! Here we go! This was basically to explain a bit more about Stiles' past as well as give you guys an idea of how little the kids really know about their parents. So yeah... enjoy I guess? Maybe? 
> 
> I'm gonna go have nightmares about drowning now that I've written this.
> 
> Ages:  
> Stiles - 33  
> Derek - 41  
> Laura - 13  
> John - 10  
> Alyssa - 3
> 
> Lydia - 33
> 
> Title is from the fic's recommended listening: What the Water Gave Me by Florence + the Machine

“Are you sure you’ll be alright for the next few days?” Derek asked, pressing close to Stiles, nuzzling his mate’s neck. Rolling his eyes, Stiles shifted to press a kiss to the elder’s lips and gently shove him towards the car.

“Yes. Lydia and I can handle the territory and kids. You guys go do what it is you do. Settle the alliance and then come home. We’ll hold the fort down till then. Now go. Scott’s looking car sick and you haven’t even gotten on the road yet.” He added, giving a playful pat to Derek’s rump as the alpha turned to head to the car. He shot his husband a look over his shoulder, a mix of annoyance and intrigue, before getting into the car and starting up the engine.

Stiles just waited, watching them go and waving. The second they were out of sight, he turned to where the house was quiet, all three of his children in the upper level doing who knew what. Honestly, he was looking forward to having a weekend where it was just him and the kids.

Entering the house once more, he went into the kitchen and began to prepare lunch. There were a few more hours before dark and he planned on getting everything ready for a movie night before it was too late and the youngest two started falling asleep. After all, they had plenty of Doctor Who to catch up on.

Of course, movie night turned into a puppy pile, all three kids piled on the couch asleep. Three year old Alyssa curled into her brother’s side, snuffling in her sleep as John twitched, dreaming of something. Laura was curled around them, the thirteen year old half awake and dozing. It was an adorable picture and Stiles took the chance to snap a photo on his phone, sending it to Derek with the caption “ _Missing you <3 _”.

It was quiet and peaceful. Something that reassured Stiles these days. The pack had had little issue with invading problems. Most of the fights they were involved in were off their territories and in other pack’s land, helping any pack they had made alliances with.

He should have known it would be too quiet.

 

It was roughly midnight and Stiles was awake, typing away at his computer. The week before, he’d gotten the position of Sheriff and he was trying to find something he and Derek could do that wouldn’t be too far from home to celebrate. Something simple, maybe something they could enjoy with the kids, if it all worked out right.

He looked up as Laura stood and blearily stumbled towards the kitchen, the light flicking on and the sound of water being poured into a glass reassuring him that she was fine. He relaxed back into his chair and listened to the sounds of the preserve around them. The usual sounds of animals snuffling through the woods near the house was comforting. It was a constant that Stiles was used to and knew what it was. 

The crunch of tires pulled him from his calm. His eyes snapped open. He didn’t recognize the sound of the truck. It was diesel. Something none of the pack would drive due to the amount of noise they make. Not to mention the smell.

Easing to his feet, Stiles made his way over to the youngest children, pausing to check and make sure they were all wearing the mountash charms he’d made them. The wood was carved in the shape of a triskelion with a double ring around it, the symbol of their pack. A reminder of home. In each spiral, a different stone rested, representing something unique to the pup and providing a protection charm strong enough to stop human threats as well as supernatural. Alyssa’s was a trinity of the Mother, Father, and Pack. The elements a young child needed the most to grow strong and healthy. John’s a trinity of the Sun, Father, and Deer. The elements of growth, protection, and provision. Laura’s was the trinity of Moon, Mother, Daughter. It encompassed her werewolf lineage and bound her to the earth she was so in tune with.

Stiles had slaved over the pendants, pleased to see each one was secured with each child, Alyssa’s currently worn around her wrist until she was old enough to wear it constantly as a necklace. Knowing they were safe, Stiles turned to the kitchen, shutting off the light and putting a finger to his lips. Laura would see it, the teen falling silent and nodding. Slowly, he knelt beside her, gently gripping her shoulders.

“If anything happens, I want you to call Lydia and hide with your brother and sister. Ok?” he whispered, barely a breath.

She still heard him, nodding.

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Stiles made his way through the living room and into the entryway, glad the couch was blocked by the wall separating the two rooms. Two trucks were parked in the driveway. Their headlights were on, the engines just having been cut.

Shifting his weight, Stiles opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind himself against the chill air of January. There were five of them, two women and three men. They all paused and looked up as Stiles stepped outside, tilting his head in greeting.

“Can I help you?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Possibly. We’re looking for Alpha Hale’s residence…” A brunette woman stated, stepping forward and offering a small smile.

“You’ve found it. However, Alpha Hale is not currently available. If you’d rather come back Monday, then I’m sure he’d be happy to-”

“You must be Stiles Hale then.” She hummed, grinning a bit more. Stiles paused here, lifting a brow.

“Yes…?”

Her grin got wider and she stepped forward, offering a hand to him. “Amanda Kramer. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” She stated.

Stiles eyed her a long moment, not making a move closer.

She cleared her throat and ran her hands over the bottom of her shirt nervously. “Uh, sorry. We’re um. We’re hunters- wait! Wait! We’re not here to cause trouble. I promise. We honestly just want to talk. We have a werewolf pack in our local town and we’re trying to work out a way to live together without any issues. We’re not specialised with werewolves and we were hoping that you could help us.”

Stiles wasn’t buying it. “Me? What could I possibly do for you?”

“You’re a human living within a pack.” She explained as if the answer was obvious.

Stiles snorted. “Right. I’m sure there are better candidates than me. And I doubt you needed to drive all the way from Massachusetts in order to find someone to help you with this. Do yourselves a favor. Go get a hotel room, sleep, and then drive home. Whatever you’ve gotten mixed up in, we don’t need it here.” He stated, moving to turn around.

“Just… one more question and I promise we’ll be done.” she called after him. Stiles paused and looked back to her, lifting a brow and silently waiting. “Is it true that you’ve practiced magick?”

Something cold settled into Stiles’ gut. An urge to get rid of a threat suddenly building that he hadn’t felt for years. Not since the alpha pack.

“Excuse me?”

“Magick. Is it true you practiced on your own? Taught yourself magick not even Druids will touch?” Amanda asked, her smile still in place.

Stiles’ brow furrowed in confusion. “How did you-”

Her grin turned wicked. “Got you.” she purred. Dread settled in Stiles’ gut at the exact moment he was slammed heavily onto the deck. He let out a yelp, cringing under the weight of the person holding him down. “My god! Gag him already!” she hissed. “Before he starts chanting!”

A pair of fingers wrenched his mouth open, holding his mouth open as something rough was shoved into his mouth. It was cold with the feeling of sandpaper dragging against his tongue and the roof of his mouth. The texture was rougher than sandpaper though, sharper, like a cat’s tongue on a larger scale. Cold clasped around the rest of his face and the heavy feel of metal was secured around his head, air being restricted suddenly as he tried to suck in lungfuls of air and getting far less than he needed.

“Looks good on you, heathen…” Amanda purred, making her way forward. “Maybe we should keep it on you. It’s called an iron gag. It was all the rage back in the medieval period… Still a favorite of the Inquisition, though.”

“Amanda, stop toying with him. The Inquisitor is waiting.” One of the men stated, looking around nervously.

She huffed and stood up, making her way back to the trucks and pulling out a pair of iron cuffs, crosses crudely carved into them. “Check the house for children. He has three of them.” She ordered. Tossing the cuffs to the man pinning Stiles down, he suddenly found himself face down on the deck, a knee between his shoulderblades and his arms being wrenched behind him. At the mention of his children, he tried to struggle free, trying to open his mouth and warn them off but sudden pain dragged through his mouth as the taste of blood filled his mouth.

“Now, now… no need for that. It’s useless anyway.” Amanda hummed. “Come on. Let’s get him to the Inquisitor.” she added, looking to the others. Pain rocketed through Stiles’ shoulders as he was hauled to his feet by his clasped hands. The man holding him dragged him forward. The guy was a mountain of a man, easily the size of Derek, if not slightly bigger. When Stiles refused to move his feet, the man just dragged him until the smaller had no chance but to walk in order to save himself further pain. He settled, instead, for glaring at the woman.

She just smirked and looked to the other three. “Find the children and bring them. Hurry though…” 

 

Laura stare wide eyed as she watched Stiles be taken down and bound. Hurrying into the living room, she roused her two siblings, carefully leading them into the back yard and out into the woods. She carried Alyssa, handing John Stiles’ phone. “Call Lydia. Then call dad.” she ordered.

John just nodded and did.

Finding them a hiding spot, Laura took the phone once her hands were free and brought it to her ear. The same second, it was answered.

“Stiles?”

“Lydia? It’s Laura. There’s strange people at the house and they took mom. They’re in the house right now. Can you call dad and get down here? I don’t know where they took mom and I-” she paused, hearing footsteps. “They’re looking for us. Hurry!” she hissed, snapping the phone closed and pocketing it.

It was silent. Darkness surrounding them and cold seeping into their bones. Alyssa was sniffling softly from the cold, shivering.

A hand shot out, grasping Laura and pulling her from their hiding spot. A man laughed. “Found you…”

 

Stiles made the trek into the woods as difficult as he could. Throwing his weight around, he put strain on his shoulder and arms, but it was enough to throw the mountain troll of a man off his step enough to slow their progress. It was a small accomplishment, but one he was proud of. Not nearly as proud as when he lunged at Amanda and made the woman flinch. It made him realize just how terrified of him they really were. This was good. He could use this to his advantage.

They came to a bend in the river they’d been following, the carcass of a tree long past falled and slowly rotted away protruding out into the riverbank. Three stones lead up to the wood shell, covered in moss and algae. Stiles knew this place. He’d fallen in that river. It was the same part of the river Stiles and Derek often took the kids fishing.

He had the sick sinking feeling it was likely to become his grave.

“Nice of you to join us…” An elder man’s voice purred. It had the same kindly grandfather tone Gerard Argent’s voice had had when he was still live. It sent a shiver down Stiles’ spine and he snapped his gaze to the owner.

The man had to have been in his late 60’s or early 70’s. Though he still seemed young and strong for his age. He stood at roughly 5’11” is Stiles was pressed to guess, and he was solidly built with a kind face. It set Stiles’ teeth on edge.

“Inquisitor.” Amadan humme, grinning widely. “We’ve brought you the witch.”

Witch? That was new. But seriously? Witch? He hardly touched spells anymore aside from basic spells and protection charms. No chance of harming anyone. And hardly considered evil.

“Well done, Amanda.” The man stated, stepping closer. “I’m Inquisitor Kramer. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Stiles. Or should I call you Genim? That is what your records officially say, after all.” Kramer hummed, grabbing a file from a nearby bag. He flipped it open, smirking as shock sparked in Stiles’ eyes. “Genim Nathaniel Stilinski. Born under the wolf moon of January. Thirty-three years of age as of last week. Your mother died when you were five, and you were raised by your father. You’re mated to alpha Derek Hale of the Hale pack. Alan Deaton taught you magick to prepare you to act as emissary. When you were seventeen, your apprenticeship was terminated and you began teaching yourself until you suddenly stopped all together.” He snapped the file shut and focused on Stiles, gaze boring into him. Fear settled cold in Stiles’ chest as he struggled to find a way out of this. Kramer just smiled. “Did you really think we’d not study you before coming in here? It would be foolish. You should know. Aren’t you the main researcher in that little pack of yours?”

He set the file back into the bag, pacing slightly as he collected his words. Stiles just watched him, focusing on controlling his breathing and heart rate. He was already breathing harder enough from the lack of air he was getting through the small hole in the iron gag around his face. His struggle on the way there hadn’t helped any with that problem. Kramer paused, studied him another long minute before retrieving another object from the bag. It was a book, bound in aged and cracked leather. The pages were yellowed and stained with age, stiff now from use and time. The paint on the cover was faded and long ago chipped away. A bit of gold leafing remained, however, just enough to offer a title to Stiles’ searching gaze.

_Malleus Malecifarum_

His blood ran cold.

The recognition must have shown on his face because Karmer smirked. “My ancestor wrote this, Heinrich Kramer. You may have heard of him? He was a clever man and not easily fooled. His methods were… off putting to some, but they were effective. Genim...do you know why we’re here? A simple shake of the head or a nod will do nicely.” Kramer added, watching amused as Stiles continued to stare in shock at the book. If it were any other situation, Stiles would have been salivating at the idea of being so close to an original copy, wanting to study it and see what he could glean from the pages of untranslated text. Because there was no doubt in his mind that that was one of the original copies. The binding of the book said enough. How they had preserved it while using it he hadn’t a clue. But he had an inkling it had something to do with a little bit of magick.

Oh the irony.

“You see… My family has, for hundreds of years, roughly since the late 1400s, done it’s best to keep… rogue magick users in line.” Kramer started, tilting his head to the side and stroking the spine of the book thoughtfully, almost fondly. His smile was still kind and it was started to drive the knife of fear even deeper into Stiles’ chest. “We’ve made our mark through history, managing to nearly double our total of cleansings since the middle ages. It’s amazing how little it takes to bring down a witch now a days… Most often, we left harmless casters live. Deaton? He’s nothing more than a five trick pony. What we consider a level 0 threat. We assumed the same of his apprentice when we caught wind of him training a new emissary. There’s not much to worry about. The magick is simple and usually harmless. But then you started practicing on your own…” Kramer’s voice remained that same tone as before, but there was something hidden beneath it. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was hate, disgust, or a sick sense of admiration. He had a feeling it was a mix of the three. “With no one to keep you in check, you dabbled in arts no emissary should touch. You focused and learned so much more than baser magick… And you became addicted to it. Didn’t you? That’s why you quit so suddenly, isn’t it? Because you were so dependant on it and it scared you…” Stiles’ glare darkened and Kramer’s smile grew. “Or was it a friend that made you stop? A pack sister, perhaps?” The chuckle that followed was enough to add to Stiles nerves.

“We waited. Gathering what information we could on you and merely… observing through word of mouth from other hunters. Let sleeping dogs lie, and all that. But it wasn’t until we heard you’d had cubs that we couldn’t ignore you any longer. We made our way across the country. Honestly, we were expecting a young man that had made one small mistake. Something that would require nothing more than a slap on the wrist and a warning. Imagine our surprise when we found a ticking time bomb parading around as the town sheriff. The fact that you’re the alpha’s bitch was only the icing on the cake.” Kramer all but purred. The hair at Stiles’ nape stood one end, a shiver running down his spine.

This was bad. Very bad.

“Do you know how many marks against you there are? How very right we were to come here with the intent of cleansing Beacon Hills? You allow a demon to bed you. You have children with him, even. Did you bare them yourself? Whelp them like the mother wolf your pack so desperately thinks of you as? You’re an abomination, Genim Nathaniel Stilinski. One of which we plan to cleanse from the world.”

A shout and growl sounded, approaching from the direction Stiles and his captors had come from. Kramer’s smile widened to almost manic proportions.

“Looks like our final guests have arrived.” He hummed, turning to look as Stiles’ children were shoved into the clearing. John was bleeding from the mouth, his lip split open and slowly healing. Alyssa was being carried, shrieking to be put down as she slammed her fists into the man’s chest, trying to get him to let go. Laura was pulling at their grip, snarling as she bared her teeth. Stiles could tell she was scared, too scared to shift. “Keep them contained. We’ll cleanse them once we’ve dealt with him. We can burn their bodies together.” Kramer stated, turning back to Stiles.

A sudden anger burned low in his gut. They had touched his children. His children had been harmed and frightened. He wouldn’t allow this. They could do whatever they wanted to him, but the second they touched his children they had signed their own death certificates. 

“Now, Genim… we’re going to ask you a few simple yes or no questions. Procedure and all. I need you to answer honestly. This counts as your trial, after all. Now, every time you don’t answer honestly, or I believe you’re lying… those men there,” he motioned to the ones holding the kids. “will break a finger for every suspected lie. And they’ll start with the youngest. I will be fact checking our records, Genim. So answer honestly. It’s better for everyone involved.” He waited for Stiles to nod. When he didn’t get a response, he gripped the man’s hair and wrenched his head up painfully, constricting his already meagre airflow. Stiles didn’t even flinch. “Do you understand?” Kramer asked, an underlying threat in his words. Stiles managed a jerky half nod and Kramer let go, dropping his head and stepping back. “Good boy… I’m sure your alpha loves to break that spirit of yours…”

Stiles just glared at him, doing his best to ignore the cries of his children. He needed to focus on getting free first before he could do anything to keep them safe. For now, it was keeping the hunters focus on him and playing the good dog.

“Shall we begin?” Kramer asked, glancing at his fellow hunters - “the cult” as Stiles had labeled them in his head - and waiting for their nods. Amanda took out a camera, flipping it on and aiming it at Stiles. He looked at her, seizing her up and missing her small flinch as his eyes flashed in the screen of the camera, from brown to a strange violet color.

“Genim Nathaniel Stilinski, is it true that you were once an apprentice to a previous emissary by the name of Alan Deaton?” Kramer asked. Biting back a growl, Stiles nodded. “And is it true that your apprenticeship was terminated due to a dependency of the crafting of magick?” Another nod. “Is it true that you have in your possession, a number of valid grimoires, among them the Key of Solomon, the four books of Occult Philosophy, the Grand Grimoire, the Grimoire of Armadel, and The Book of Shadows?”

Stiles brow creased as he frowned. How had they known that? He knows there wasn’t a paper trail left when he got his hands on those, not to mention the other ones he still had untranslated that he hadn’t had the chance to even open before Lydia had made him go cold turkey on the magick thing.

“I’m waiting for an answer, Genim.” Kramer warned, a hand raised to give the signal, Alyssa’s hand held in her captor’s grip. Stiles swallowed and nodded. “Is it true that you have willingly shared a bed and bound yourself to a werewolf? A demon in both human and animal forms?” Ok, now the questions were getting uncomfortable. Stiles did not need his kids knowing what he and Derek got up to behind closed doors.

Or in the woods.

Slowly, he nodded.

“Is it true, you still cultivate and tend to a garden of herbs used in magicks?”

Stiles gave him a “duh” look and nodded.

“... You’re not struggling. It’s amazing your control. It’s hard to believe you haven’t been tempted to dust off the old books for some real casting…. Have you? Done any strong magick recently?”

Stiles shook his head. Kramer’s smile pulled down at the corners slightly.

“I don’t believe you. One more chance to answer me without punishment, Genim.” 

Stiles just glared and shook his head once more. Sighing, Kramer looked over. “He’s behaved till now…. break the eldest’s fingers. All of them on her right hand.”

A howling scream ripped through the trees, the sickening crunch of bone echoing underneath it. Stiles closed his eyes, swallowing harshly and tasting blood. He could feel it pooling with spit inside the iron trap around his jaw, covering his skin and staining it as it slowly dried and cracked. His throat felt like sandpaper and his tongue was rubbed raw along with the roof of his mouth. Hearing the scream of his daughter just dug a knife deeper into his chest and he bit back the urge to cry from the panic and pain. He refused to let himself even tear up.

Kramer was watching him closely, smiling once more. “Amazing… even now, under torture of yourself and your children, you refuse to cry… not even a flinch.” he chuckled and closed the book, having been looking through it and mentally marking the proof he needed. “We’ve seen enough. Genim Nathaniel Stilinski, by the power of the Inquisition, I find you guilty of acts of sorcery and magick. As such, you are found guilty of witchcraft, of which the punishment is death and the burning of your remains. May your soul burn in the pits of Hell where it belongs.” 

Stiles was hefted up ever so slightly. Confused for a moment, he blinked and looked around as he was dragged across the ground. The second he realized their destination he started to struggle, feet scrabbling against the ground in an attempt to get purchase and push against the direction he was being pulled in. It didn’t work. He could hear his children screaming for him as he was dragged over rocks, sharper stones tearing through his jeans and ripping into his skin.

The water was cold as Stiles was thrown into the river, arms grabbing him once he’d gotten to his knees. With only a second to react, Stiles sucked in a breath before he was pushed beneath the surface.

Panic gripped him time and he thrashed, shoving upward with what strength he had, trying to break free of their hold and get to the surface. Immediately his brain had stopped trying to make him breathe, a natural instinct kicking in. Presently, he was fighting shock as the fight instinct kicked in at the same time, lending strength where he shouldn’t have any. He broke surface once, a scream of “MOMMY!!!” sounding in Alyssa’s voice before his head was shoved under once more.

He was getting cold. His vision blurred and blackened around the edges. The fight was slowly bleeding out of him. His hands were numb, so cold his fingers were turning blue from the fridgid water mixing with chilled winter air. It couldn’t have been warmer than 34 degrees out, the moon hanging heavily in the sky behind a soft veil of thin clouds. A witch’s moon. Stiles could see it reflected in the water around and above him. And he knew it. He was going to die here, with the moon as his last sight of the world. He was going to die under the same moon he’d been born under. The first night of the wolf moon. It was strangely fitting.

He felt something change then. It was subtle at first. Like the soft trickle of water over rocks that precedes a flood. Cold slowly filled him, chilling his body and warming it from the cold from the inside out. It was as if someone had lowered him into a burning fire, so hot it felt cool to the touch. It was unlike anything he’d felt before and he let it consume him.

He stopped struggling.

 

Laura’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Stiles go deathly still in the water. Beside her, John let out a yell as he began to cry, Alyssa already screaming for their mother. The man in charge just smiled as he watched him go still. He waited a few minutes, making sure he was under long enough, before turning to the children.

“Now… what should I do with you? The youngest should be quick enough, but you two…”

“Stiles!? Laura!?” A frantic voice sounded, Lydia breaking into the clearing. She looked panicked, a baseball bat resting over her shoulder. The Inquisitor looked over to her and lifted a brow.

“Can I help you?”

“Where’s Stiles?” she growled, quickly making sure the children were unharmed. She noted the odd angle of Laura’s fingers before baring her teeth at the man, brandishing her bat now at the ready.

“He’s a little… cold.” The man hummed, tilting his head towards the water.

Lydia looked over, her eyes widening as she recognized the red hoodie. Her green eyes flashed dangerously and she lunged. Alyssa was handed off to the man holding John in check, the other moving forward and slamming her into a tree before she could get more than a few feet. She let out a choked cry of pain, something snapping from the force of the hit.

“Lydia!” Laura cried, trying to struggle free once more.

“It appears I’m going have to deal with you as well, now. Aren’t I?”

“You sick bastard! You touch those children and I’ll-” Lydia snapped, struggling against the hold on her.

The Inquisitor just looked to her. “You’ll what?” he challenged.

A soft sound started in the background, so deep it was nothing more than the whisper of an undertone. No one seemed to notice at first until the soft click sounded. Gazes turned towards the sound, the two hunters still holding Stiles under were slowly letting go of him, backing away from the cold dead weight. His hands were limp, but the shackles on his wrists had just opened. It was silent as they slowly slid off his back. The soft splash they made as they hit the water and sank, reminding Laura of when she was younger and would throw heavier stones into the river, snapped through the silence.

The water bubbled, bursting up and into a violent frenzy as steam began to rapidly cover from the surface of the river. One of the hunters gave a startled scream, pulling a hand from the water to reveal reddened skin from heat, not cold. The one closest to shore bolted from the river, hissing as the water heated up around her. The man wasn’t so quick, screaming as the temp rose. The other’s eyes widened, Lydia staring on in horror.

“Oh no…” she whispered, seconds before everything went to hell.

An arm shot up and gripped the man in the water, pulling him under and Stiles disappeared beneath the surface of the river. Limbs flailed upward amidst splashing, each time coming up more blistered and burned until the water went deathly still. It stopped bubbling the same moment the thrashing stopped.

Turning her gaze to the Inquisitor, Lydia spoke over the silence. “Run. If you want any chance of getting out of here alive, run.” she urged him, deathly serious.

The man just looked at her, setting his jaw. She shook her head. _Stupid, foolish old man._

The water rippled, the mirror like surface reflecting the moon as a white ring slowly formed around it. The air grew colder. A few of the hunters took hurried steps back, the two with the children suddenly putting themselves between the river and the kids, instinctively protecting them.

The serene river was broken as a figure burst from underneath, standing on surprisingly steady legs. He was soaked through, hair falling to his forehead and water dripping from his clothing and skin. Another click sounded as he turned to face the shore, the iron gag around his jaw falling with heavy splash into the water as he opened his mouth just that much further. A stream of blood and spit followed it, dripping down his chin and neck.

Stiles opened his eyes, violet glowing where there should have been pupil and iris.

The Inquisitor took a step back. “How-”

“You know some say Hell is actually frozen over… Shall we find out?” Stiles stated, his voice surprisingly strong and clear for someone that had just been drowned, not to mention had their mouth torn apart. his tone was cold, the hunters shivering as clouds started to thicken around them. The wind picked up.

A few flakes of snow fell.

The hunter holding Lydia, dropped her and bolted. Ignoring everything around her, Lydia ran to the children, their hunters abandoning them as well. The wind turned to a howl and suddenly the world whited out, snow whipping around their heads and the temperature plummeting around them, a pocket of warmth created around Lydia and the cubs as she remembered a few simple spells Stiles had taught her a long time ago.

A scream sounded from somewhere under the howling of the wind. A splash of red zipped by and another scream. A garbled yell followed soon after and another, cut off, scream of pain.

Around them, a laugh bounced. Alyssa screamed and buried her head in Lydia’s chest.

“You seem to forget, Inquisitor. Any real witch knows how to cast without speaking… It all comes down to whether or not you _believe_. Tell me, Inquisitor… do you _believe_?”

 

In the midst of the blizzard, Stiles stood over the Inquisitor. The man held his broken nose, scrambling away on his back as the younger stepped closer. The man wasn’t smiling now. He was shaking in fear, his eyes wide and filled with panic. Stiles just advanced, eyes still glowing a violent purple, the air seeming to bend and shift around him oddly.

“No… No, please! I beg! Have mercy!” Kramer cried, squeaking as Stiles bent down and gripped the front of his jacket.

“I have no mercy for the scum that touch my children…” Stiles returned, a smile twisting his lips. “They warn people to never threaten a mother wolf’s cubs… Do you know why?”

“Please..” the man whimpered, cringing away as Stiles leaned closer, teeth bared.

“Tell me why, Inquisitor!” Stiles taunted, the wind ripping at their clothing. Ice was already forming on Stiles’ clothes and hair. His skin had taken on an odd silvery sheen as frost began latticing up his neck and face. Kramer cowered away, whimpering pathetically.

“Stiles!”

Glancing towards his left, Stiles tilted his head and listened.

“Stiles!”

Lydia. That was Lydia’s voice.

“Stiles, stop! You have to stop!”

Stop? But he needed to be punished! He had hurt Laura! Frightened his children!

“You need to stop, Stiles! You’re scaring your children and they need their mother!”

His children…

“STOP!”

He let go of Kramer, the wind dying as suddenly as it had began. His eyes bled back to their normal color from the violet, pupils returning and dilating in the dark as the realization of what had happened dawned on him. Looking to Kramer, Stiles took in the frightened look on the man’s face. He stepped back as if burned, turning to look to Lydia and his children. The looks of fear he found there broke his heart.

He took a step forward and watched them flinch. The cold hit his system and he gave a violent shiver, vision blurring before going black.

He was out before he hit the snow.

 

“Lydia…” Laura’s voice was soft, drawing the woman’s attention. She paused, filling cups with water for cocoa.

“Yes?”

The young girl shifted uneasily in her chair. Biting her lower lip was a habit she’d picked up from Stiles and it was something she only did when nervous. “..What.. what happened?”

Setting the kettle aside, Lydia sighed and leaned against the counter. “.....Those people? They were hunters… Like the Argents used to be. Only they specialized in something other than werewolves..”

“What did they specialize in?” It was such an innocent question.

Lydia looked her over a long moment, thinking back to the months when Derek was gone, back when Stiles was alone and seventeen and scared. “People like your mother…”

“You mean… Emissaries?”

“...Magick users, Laura…. People who know how to wield the energies around us and bend them to their desired forms… People like Stiles..”

“I don’t-...”

“Laura..” Lydia started gently. “It’s not my place to tell. All I can tell you is, your mother hasn’t touched magick since he was seventeen. Protection spells and charms are as far as he goes. And even then, he keeps them simple and basic. Anymore than that, you have to ask him.”

 

A hand was running through his hair. It was warm and calloused. Familiar. Opening his eyes, Stiles lifted his honey colored gaze to his husband. Derek just stared back, worried.

“I’m sorry…” Stiles croaked out, now without the magick supporting him, his throat and mouth were killing him. His jaw ached and his neck felt like it had a large knot in it. “I let them get hurt. I couldn’t keep them safe… oh god they’re probably terrified of me.”

“No. No. They’re fine, Stiles.”

“Laura won’t talk to me-”

“She’ll come around.”

“Der-”

Derek shook his head. “No. Nothing to be sorry for. You kept our cubs safe and you’re still here…” he stated, leaving no room for argument.

Stiles just winced, whimpering as tears finally spilled forth. “I’m so sorry…” he sobbed out, burying his face in Derek’s thigh. Letting out a shaky breath he hadn’t known he was holding, Derek pressed a kiss to Stiles’ temple, continuing to run his fingers through his husband’s hair and mutter soothing words to him. He could smell the fear and self loathing rolling off of him and Derek hated it. Hated that Stiles had been pushed to this by the hunters. By him.

“I’m so sorry…” was the repeated, broken plea that tore at him. And Derek knew it would take months, possibly years to fix the damage a single incident with hunters had done. But he’d be there every step of the way. As would the kids. Because that’s what pack did. That’s what family did.

 

That was the last time Laura ever looked at Stiles as her mother.

 

_So lay me down_  
Let the only sound  
Be the overflow  
Pockets full of stones  
Lay me down  
Let the only sound  
Be the overflow 

**Author's Note:**

> Yup. Having fun, guys?
> 
> Anyway, a few notes for anyone who's curious.
> 
> About the moons:  
> The Wolf Moon is the full moon in January.  
> A Witch's Moon is a moon that's seen through thin clouds or mist/fog.  
> A ring around the moon is a sign of a bad storm coming. Dark rings usually mean rain and white for snow.
> 
> The grimoires listed are real and can all be researched and copies of found if you're interested. A simple google search should work. Just don't mess around with them, yeah? Be smart.
> 
> The _Malleus Maleficarum_ was originally written by Heinrich Kramer and published in 1486. Kramer was part of the Inquisition at the time and seen to be one of the people behind starting the witch hunts in medieval Europe. It's interesting stuff for those curious enough to look it up. I won't go on about it, because this is a fanfiction site, not a history lesson (sadly). I have hours worth of stuff on this that is absolutely fascinating.
> 
> Seriously. My process of writing includes lots of research and me getting distracted by shiny new facts I learn. I kid you not, I am literally a female Stiles, just without the werewolf issue. It's scary.
> 
> The Iron Gag used in the fic is also real. It's known as a Mute's Bridle in some cases. Wicked looking thing. Originally it had a spike on both sides of the piece that was inserted into the mouth. It would pierce the tongue and lower jaw as well as the roof of the mouth and into the sinuses. I modified it for the fic, obviously. A more "modern" version. It was often used in the case of drawing confessions out of "witches". Again, fascinating, yet horrific, stuff.
> 
> The use of "magick" instead of "magic": basically to distinguish between "magick" - the use of drawing energy and casting spells using the forces around you, and "magic" - stage tricks and sleight of hand.
> 
> And that's my rant! Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Time to go have nightmares!
> 
> Whee!


End file.
